


New York, New York

by SuperFYB



Series: Crashverse [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, M for language and violence, Pre-Project Freelancer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFYB/pseuds/SuperFYB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's got one more shot to get out of Sunny's debt, and it's not just his life on the line this time. </p>
<p>Agent York before he was Agent York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey, Johnny!

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to go into a few things before you read. First off, I'm giving York the name 'John Vacca.' I know the fandom has generally called him 'Sean' after the voice actor, but I'm taking a different approach. In this AU, he's a second gen Italian-American who grew up in New York City. Marda is Japanese-American, and they both grew up in the slums. I think that's all you really need to know for now.  
> Feedback is very much appreciated, so let me know if this is something y'all are interested in. Thanks!

New York City, many years ago…

"Well well well...well. Right. What are you doing here?" he asked.

She was sitting on his couch, obviously having made herself comfortable; leaning back seductively with one leg crossed over the other, a hand absentmindedly combing through her long black hair.

"Is that any way to say hello to an old friend?" she pouted mockingly.

Nervously biting his cheek, he took a slow step forward, glancing warily around his apartment as he went.

She rolled her eyes, clearly put out by the mistrust, "I came alone."

He frowned. "That's what you said last time. And last time I found a f#*&ing ninja in my shower, so forgive me for being a little cautious."

"I assure you, if there was a...ninja...in your shower, it had nothing to do with me."

Squinting in thought, he searched her with his eyes. "Why else would there be a ninja in my shower?"

Now it was her turn to frown. "You think that because I'm asian that I have ninjas at my disposal? That's-"

"No! I mean-if it wasn't your ninja-then...who the hell was in my shower?"

"John, I assure you-"

"Oh god! He jumped out the window!"

"Why is that-"

"What if he wasn't really a ninja?! We're eleven stories up! Oh man...fire trucks came out that night…"

"Did...did someone kill themselves by jumping out your bathroom window?" she asked in astonishment.

He sat on the coffee table just across from her, still dazed by the revelation. Some crazy had dressed himself up like a ninja and hid out in his bathroom. What the hell was he doing in there?

"You know what? Never mind that," she shook her head wearily. "This is _not_ what I came here to discuss."

" _The last thing he saw was my dick_ ," he whispered in horror.

The next thing he knew, she was slapping him across the face. "OW! What the hell, Marda?"

"Focus, John! I've got a job for you."

He rubbed the side of his face more for show than to relieve any residual pain. Not that she would care either way…

"What is it?" he whined.

"Here," she handed him a manila folder.

"Where the hell'd you pull that from?" he asked, looking around. "Were you sitting on it?"

"Just open the goddamn folder!"

"Jeez! Fine!" he pulled the tab over to look inside the file. Out fell detailed blueprints of what seemed to be an ordinary office building, notes etched out in the margins. Behind those were a series of images of a small object he couldn't quite get the make of, as well as security details, personnel profiles, and a rough contract.

"What is it?" he asked after skimming through the photos.

" _That_ ," she nodded to the object, "is none of your concern. And I think you can agree considering the sum Kim's offering."

"Well, sure, the pay seems good, but-"

"Did you read the number? That's a lot of zeroes, John."

He closed the folder and tossed it next to him. All the humor had drained from his voice, "Yeah, I read it. And I know that a number like that isn't something Sunny's just gonna pull out of his ass. Which means this thing-whatever it is-is worth a whole lot of money. And, given Sunny's track record, I'm guessing dangerous as hell."

She pursed her lips, leaning back into her seat once more. "You're right. Absolutely, one-hundred percent on the money. That is one of the most dangerous objects on the planet."

"Marda," he started, "You know I'm not comfortable with-"

"Let me stop you there. See, you're coming into this thinking that you've got a choice in the matter."

"I-"

"Uh-uh-uh," she held up a finger, clearly not finished, "Maybe you've forgotten, but you still haven't paid Mr. Kim back from the last time he loaned you money. Oh, wait, or for the time before that, or before that!"

"Please...You know Tommy's still in the hospital. I can't-"

She held the finger up once more, stopping him in his tracks. For a moment, a genuine sadness washed over her face before being replaced with the cold stoicism he'd come to expect from her. "We can all sympathize, Johnny. 'Fact, sympathy's the only reason Sunny Kim hasn't put you right there with him. But everyone has their limits, and Mr. Kim's losing patience."

He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands through his hair stressfully. "I'll get the money. I'll find a way to pay him back, I swear. Please, Marda."

"You don't understand, John. The money's not gonna do it for him." She reached for the folder and pushed it up against his chest. "This is the only choice you've got left."

He took the file from her, staring down at it in his lap.

"One last job. You get in Sunny's good graces, plus enough dough to pay for Tommy's medical bills for what, a year?"

"And in the process, I steal something that can level a continent? Glass the world?"

She sighed, "You know what he'll do to you if you refuse, right?"

"I've had my legs broken before, I think I can handle-"

"I'm being serious, Johnny!" she scolded. "He will kill you dead. And then what happens to Tommy?"

"If it means stopping him from getting his hands on-" A hand grabbed his shoulder, and the unexpected contact shocked him into silence.

"You are not the only locksmith in the city."

A chill ran down his spine.

Her voice dropped down to barely a whisper, and she looked him dead in the eye, "Take the damn job."

* * *

"I don't like it, Tommy."

"You don't like anything."

"I'm being serious," he huffed, leaning back in his chair.

The sky was pale grey and the clouds seemed to have come out of nowhere. Not ten minutes before it'd been the epitome of a beautiful summer morning. Now a slight drizzle was tapping against the window, dripping tauntingly down the pane.

"Then don't fucking do it," was Tommy's way of telling him to stop complaining. His arms were folded over his chest as he scowled at nothing in particular across the room. The weather reflected his mood perfectly.

Even behind the annoyance, he couldn't help but recognize how pale his brother looked, how glossy his eyes had become, and the sunken in cheeks. "Marda says I don't have a choice," he answered, biting his lip again out of nervous habit.

"Since when do you listen to Marda?"

That was a good question. "It's not just her. It's this whole fucking situation, man. Sunny's got this whole thing planned out, and I don't get a say on any of it. The plan, the crew...even my equipment."

"You know if I could I'd go with you…" Tommy trailed off. He left the last bits unspoken, as they both knew if he could he would in a heartbeat. Then again…

"If you could, the whole thing would be moot in the first place," he sighed, wishing for literally any other case and circumstance.

But no. Tommy was sick. Sick and dying and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. They'd tried to go straight after their mother died, but that didn't leave a lot of work for someone with a record, and the hospital bills had piled up. Taking that first loan from Sunny had been the worst decision John had ever made, but what other choice did he have?

And now he was back in the business despite himself.

"You could run," Tommy uttered quietly. Almost quiet enough that he hadn't heard it at all.

"I can't," he replied. "Sunny's guys'll kill you, T."

He felt cool skin against his own as his brother grabbed his hand. Looking up into those cold brown eyes, he couldn't help but remember a time when they'd been warm and excitable. What he would give to see them the way they used to be.

Tommy squeezed his hand with a desperation he wasn't accustomed to.

" _I'm already dead."_

* * *

He'd never been one for nightmares. For whatever reason his dreams were far too fantastical to be anywhere near what he considered 'scary'. But after that day at the hospital he couldn't go a night without waking up in a cold sweat, an image of brown eyes faded in darkness lingering in his mind with a cruel aftertaste.

The day of the heist was swiftly approaching, and he found himself on more and more occasions wandering about the neighborhood of the office building. God, he must have passed that place a thousand times in his life. And even now that he knew what it held, he was still having trouble imagining it.

The device looked like some random object: a trinket, or a weirdly shaped paperweight. And even though Marda had been less than forthcoming about what it could do, looking at the security specs made his stomach turn. Something this well fortified, despite appearances, was nothing close to a paperweight.

Part of him wished that they'd fail. That the plan would go down in flames and any chance of Sunny getting his hands on the object would go with it. But he knew the stakes, and even though Tommy's words plagued him day and night, he wasn't willing to let go just yet. If nothing more than to give his brother a fighting chance, he had to do this.

* * *

Marda was waiting for him outside his apartment wearing the smallest dress he'd ever seen.

"You're seriously going like that?" he remarked as she straightened out his shirt collar.

Not looking away from her task, she responded, "It's a club, John. This is what people wear."

"How'd you even get that thing on? You got a shrink ray or something?" She turned him around to brush off some lint on his pants. "Because you know those are illegal."

"Ha. Ha. You're hilarious," she deadpanned.

After a few more moments he couldn't help himself. "Am I good?" he turned to face her, outstretching his arms for full inspection.

She sighed, "As good as you'll get." Still, her lips were pursed critically.

"Don't give me that face. You know it's the only outfit I have!"

"That is why I wanted to go shopping!" her voice rose in annoyance. "But _noooo_ , 'you've got it covered.'"

"How is this not covering it?" he gestured to himself. "I look damn good! And as far as anyone else is concerned-"

"Damn good doesn't cut it! You know what tonight means. You know why we're going there. This isn't fucking amateur hour! You look like a street…"

He couldn't help but glare. "Like a what, Marda? Go ahead and say it."

She knew she'd crossed a line as soon as the words slipped past her lips. "John, you know I-"

"I look like a 'street rat.' Well guess what. I am a street rat." She cast her eyes away shamedly. "At least I'm not pretending I'm not," he whispered poiniently before brushing past her.

The car was waiting for them downstairs. Even though he was furious with her, he knew Mamma Vacca would've killed him if he didn't at least open the car door for her. Marda slipped in without a word and he stomped childishly over to the other side. As soon as he was in, the driver departed post haste.

It was at least a half hour drive to the other side of town, and a club he couldn't remember the name of. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and felt Marda watching him out the corner of her eye. It wasn't that he'd never been clubbing before, it was just that this place was top of the line. Good looks and lucky one-liners wouldn't be enough to get a guy like him inside. No, a place like this required a fucking _invitation_. And the fact that his had come from a guy like Sunny Kim didn't exactly make him feel any more comfortable.

After ten minutes of awkward nudges on Marda's part, he was pretty sure he'd made it clear he was giving her the silent treatment. That didn't stop her from trying to fix her earlier faux pas. "Come on, you know I didn't mean it like that. And this day and age it's not offensive unless you make it offensive."

"Give it a rest," he answered, staring out the window and refusing to visually acknowledge her.

She pouted, "How can I give it a rest when you keep making me feel bad?"

He turned his face further away so she couldn't see the slight smile he was trying to keep at bay.

"You know my brain-mouth dam doesn't do it's job properly when I'm flustered. And the way Sunny's been lately-"

"How about we don't talk about Sunny right now," he interrupted.

"You're right," she conceded tiredly. "I just...this isn't what I thought it would be."

Now he didn't try to hold back the smirk. "You thought being the right hand lady of the biggest mobster in the city was going to be a hoot and a holler?"

"Who says 'hoot and holler?' And no. I didn't think it would be that. I just didn't think it would be this either. I only signed on to run the numbers, keep the books in check. Never to be some, some handmaiden to a crimelord!"

"You remember when we were kids? You wanted to be a social worker. Change the world one person at a time."

"And you wanted to be the world's greatest thief. How could I forget?"

"Hah! Now look at us."

"I organize a criminal empire and you mediocrely pick locks."

"What do you mean, 'mediocre?' I'm a damn good lockpick."

"Oh, you mean the Boston job was just a fluke?"

"You promised never to talk about Boston!"

"Or Hanover? Or Miami?"

"Neither of those were my fault!"

"We're still sticking with 'Tommy did it,' are we?"

"Tommy did do it!"

"He wasn't even on the Hanover job!"

"He called me mid-heist!"

"And you answered the phone?"

"It was an important phone call."

Before they could argue further, the car came to an abrupt stop. He glanced out Marda's window and saw the glow of neon lights.

"We're here," she stated.

His eyes wandered to the sign, "Errera."


	2. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first two chapters for this fic two years ago, and haven't touched it since. I was a bit ashamed for not finishing my main fic, and so I didn't even want to look at this one. However, the other day, I was super bored and decided to read what I had written, and I was actually surprised with how much I liked it. While I have no plans to finish this story (at least not any time in the near future), I thought I'd put the second chapter up, just for kicks. 
> 
> As I didn't get any feedback for the first chapter, I don't expect any for this. But, if you're so inclined, please comment. I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts, good or bad.

Sunny Kim. Born in China, raised in Brooklyn. His parents had been peasant farmers before they managed to smuggle themselves into the US where they opened a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the rough side of town. By the time Sunny was eleven years old he’d fallen in with the local gang and when he was fifteen he’d made his allegiance to the Russian mafia. His street-smarts and insatiable bloodlust had soon elevated him through the ranks until he was the consigliere of Pietre Rasko, the biggest mobster this side of the Hudson. 

After years at Rasko’s side, Kim murdered the kingpin in cold blood. Those loyal to Rasko rebelled against their newly declared leader, and the fallout was a bloodbath that lasted years. In the end Kim was able to commandeer Rasko’s position, his wealth, and all of his power, leaving no question of who owned the city’s crime. 

The item in question was a neutron bomb in the guise of a console remote. It’d been designed by some of the greatest scientists at the UNSC’s disposal, and had been hidden in plain sight for decades. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

THUMP THUMP THUMP

“WHAT?!”

“I SAID, DO YOU WANT A DRINK?”

“WAHT!?!”

“DO. YOU. WANT. A. DRINK?!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“NO SHIT!”

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!”

Marda had gone and he’d been left to mingle with their pals from the old days. Ronnie Rictor and Mason Hughs and Georgie Capaldi, among others. Despite the overwhelming roar of the music they seemed to be having a swell time exchanging stories and reminiscing of jobs gone by. He couldn’t begin to comprehend how they were hearing each other over the bass. Still, he found himself nodding along and laughing good-naturedly whenever he thought someone had made a joke. 

He wasn’t having fun, but he knew this would be the only downtime they’d have before things got serious. Might as well pretend to enjoy it. A few minutes after Marda had left, he spotted her purple sequined mini by the bar. “YOU GUYS WANT DRINKS?” he shouted to the others who didn’t seem to hear. What, was he invisible? Since clearly no one was paying attention to him, he shuffled through the crowd towards the bar. “MARDA!” he called to her. “MARDA!”

She had disappeared as soon as he breached the final cluster of bodies, leaving him breathless and with a frown on his face. Looking back to see where his group was, he failed to recognize a single head in the crowd. “Great,” he puffed before turning back to the counter, taking a stool for himself. 

At this point the bar was the least crowded part of the club, as most patrons had taken to mingling on the dancefloor. The relative quiet plus a little extra elbow room was putting him more and more at ease even as he could feel his stomach churn at the thought of where his friends had gone. 

Ordering a scotch just to settle his stomach, he grabbed one of the lighters that had been set out on the bar. He ran his thumb over the club’s logo on the front before flipping the top open to test out the burn. The small flame flickered and died almost immediately, and he couldn’t help but frown. Of course he’d grab the defective one.

After he’d downed the first drink, he was feeling a little more optimistic about the night in general. Turning, he scanned the crowd again to see if his friends had returned. Spotting no one, he shrugged and ordered a second round. 

His third and fourth drinks came and went, and by his fifth, he’d added a hefty bill to Marda’s tab. At this point he didn’t really care. His former friends, soon to be colleagues, had left him to go god-knows-where and do god-knows-what, and Marda was absolutely nowhere to be seen. 

Flipping the lighter cap open and closed over and over again, his eyes went in and out of focus as he stared at the liquor shelf behind the counter. His friends had abandoned him, and he was bored out of his mind. Seemingly out of nowhere, he felt the lighter being lifted right out of his hand. 

Turning to protest, he was greeted with the sight of a smirking red-head. 

* * *

“You don’t mind if I keep this? I lost mine, and you don’t seem to be using yours correctly,” the smile that played at the edge of her lips had him thinking that she was messing with him. But the way those piercing green eyes stared down at him, commanding,  _ demanding _ , it made his drunken heart flutter. What weirded him out beyond all measure was the way her voice was so clear, like a fucking bell in the midst of the rumble of the club.

“I…” he had no idea what to say. The teal and red lights behind the bar fell on her blood red hair and shimmered around her like a halo. God, was it getting hot in there?

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and was startled out of whatever the hell state the redhead had put him in. “He’s ready for us, Johnny,” Marda squeezed hard enough to bruise, and he could feel the glare she was casting towards his companion. He’d been the object of that stare before, and it was enough to make a grown man cry. 

To his utter pleasure, Red just smiled back mischievously. “See you later, Johnny.” 

He was pretty sure his heart literally skipped a beat.  _ She knows my name! _

Before he could make a fool of himself, Marda pulled him off the stool and lead him towards one of the back rooms.  “What the hell was that all about?!” she was forced to shout over the music. 

A giddy smile spread across his face. “Hell if I know,” he glanced back at the bar to see if she had stayed, but Marda was still being too rough to get a good look. 

“Get your fucking head on straight,” she scolded outside the curtain that separated them from Sunny Kim and his thugs. “How many drinks did you have?!” 

“How about you pick a number between one and ten, and I’ll let you know if you’re close.”

_ Smack! _

“OW!” 

Her normally pale face was near scarlet with rage. “You’re a goddamn idiot. Sunny’s gonna eat you alive and crap you into oblivion, and when that happens you better not come bitching to me.”

He glared back, “Well if you hadn’t just left me out there--”

“I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU, VACCA. This is a job. Fucking remember it.”

She turned and pulled back the curtain, grabbing his wrist and flinging him inside. He quickly recovered and found that he now stood before a long conference table. At the head was a  really grumpy looking asian dude surrounded by six of the biggest guys he’d ever seen in his life. On either side of the table were a few faces he recognized, and a few he didn’t. He imagined they’d all have a role to play in the coming heist. 

“Mr. Kim,” he nodded and bared his teeth in (what he imagined was) his most charming smile. Marda came in behind him, rolling her eyes and leading him to a seat before taking one to the immediate right of Sunny. 

A minute or two passed in silence as a few more people trickled in. The head of the table was as stoic as ever, and he could feel the weight of the man’s presence as if it were a physical thing. This was a guy who killed hundreds, if not thousands. He traded in death and fear and violence. And here John had gone and thrown himself in with the likes of him. That high he’d been riding on since Red took his lighter was coming crashing down around him. 

A pang of guilt hit him in the gut and he justified it away with a million excuses. 

“This is everyone, Mr. Kim,” Marda informed the mobster as the last man took his seat. 

Sunny stood and everything seem to freeze; a whole room held its breath. He couldn’t help but feel resentment at the power such a horrible human being could wield over others. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. His brother was dying and a murderer owned his soul. 

“You all know why you’re here,” Kim stated, his voice shockingly reserved. “Going over the plan like this might seem a bit overkill, amiright?” 

Silence.

“Heh. Course it is. You’re professionals. You know your shit. You don’t need some weird grandiose meeting in the back of a club to tell you what to do. That’d just be insulting, wouldn’t it?” In one smooth motion, Sunny Kim pulled out an ancient revolver, pointed it in the direction of Ronnie Rictor, and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell, and a bullet exploded into the man’s heart, the force of the hit knocking his chair back and splashing crimson over the table and it’s nearby occupants. 

Looks of shock and horror reverberated along with the gunshot.

He wanted to scream. He’d known Ronnie since they were kids. Grew up on the same block. Ol’ Ronnie used to come over for Mama’s ravioli on Sundays with his folks, and they’d play old video games his dad had collected.

But he didn’t scream. He didn’t speak. Hell, he barely flinched. BECAUSE THAT WAS THE KIND OF POWER SUNNY KIM HELD. To speak, to make any kind of noise at all, was a death warrant. If he was going to admit in any fashion that the blood of his childhood friend on his face bothered him it’d be to God after he was put in the ground. 

Setting the smoking gun on the long oak table, Marda handed Kim a moist towelette to literally wash his hands of the deed he’d just committed. “Sorry about the noise,” he gestured to the firearm shruggingly. An unspoken, “it is what it is.” 

“You know, here on Earth, the UNSC doesn’t have all that much of a presence. They got bigger things to deal with out in the cosmos. Alien shit and planets blowing up and a whole lotta hoo-hah that is just way beyond a simple guy like me. So, I think it’s telling that they’d be willing to buy an informant from  _ my own crew _ , to try and stop me from taking their gizmo.”

Disbelieving glances made their way to the body that was slowly staining the floor. Even he had a hard time imagining Ronnie as a snitch. It wasn’t in the guy’s character. And even if it had been, going against Sunny was the epitome of stupid. 

Unless Rictor had known what he didn’t. Maybe they’d told him what it was Kim was trying to steal. And maybe it was so horrible that stopping the heist was worth putting your life on the line. But John wasn’t worried about his life. He had Tommy to consider, and that was enough. That would  _ always be _ enough.

“I guess what this meeting is really about, is making sure you all understand something. Something Mr. Rictor failed to realize: If you double cross me--no--if you even  _ think _ of double crossing me--you and every single person you care about get a first class ticket to the afterlife.”

He looked over to Marda, her face hard and calloused to what was going on around her. As if a man being murdered in front of her was as normal as anything else. Like it didn’t phase her at all. 

Shit, man-- _ We’re all going to Hell for this. _

* * *

 

Everyone shuffled out of the backroom in dead silence, grim expressions playing on the faces of some while others seemed otherwise indifferent. John couldn’t tell if it was the scotch or the fact that he’d just watched someone die in cold blood, but he was beyond intoxicated. Stumbling back through the bar and pushing through the dance floor, he made his way towards the back exit.

A hand grabbed his just as the cold hit his flushed face. Shaking his head, he pulled away from her and kept walking. “You can’t talk your way out of this, Marda.”

“I didn’t know!”

He spun around to face her, “Bullshit!”

“I didn’t know!” she repeated louder. Her face covered in red splotches and her eyes boring into his with self-justified resolve. 

“Didn’t know what?” he questioned angrily, trying and failing to keep his own eyes from watering. “That your boss is a killer?” 

“I didn’t know he’d kill Ronnie!”

He waved her away and turned to keep walking. “We’re done.”

“You can’t walk away from this, John. It’s too late for that,” she called to him.

“And whose f*#&ing fault is that, Marda?” he yelled back, continuing to trudge down the street. 

“You’ll still do the job. He’ll kill Tommy. Do you hear me?! You can’t walk away!” He turned into a side alley that would take him to a main road, and hopefully a cab out of there. Even from there he could hear her yell in frustration. “DAMMIT JOHN!”

* * *

 

He stumbled into his apartment, not bothering to turn any of the lights on. At this point, all he needed was to close his eyes and forget. Falling onto his bed, he absentmindedly flicked off his shoes and was unconscious in seconds. 

_ “I swear, I’m doing everything I can!” he called out, but his fingers refused to move the way he told them to. They slipped and stumbled along the edges of the lock.  _

_ “Do better!” Kim yelled back, standing behind Tommy. _

_ His little brother was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back, tears streaming from cold, dead eyes. “You can’t save me, J.” _

_ “Just a little more time! Please, that’s all I need! Just a little bit more!” _

_ The gun cocked and pressed into the back of his brother’s head. Tommy’s skin went a shade of blue, and his eyes sunk into the back of his skull. His voice was like a distant echo,  _ “I’m already dead.”

He shot up out of bed. “Shit. Shit shit shit.” Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he felt overwhelmingly hot. Stripping out of the suit, he felt his way to the bathroom. After purging the contents of his stomach he slipped into a cold shower. 

Freezing water poured over him, muffling his sobs. 

* * *

John didn’t go back to sleep that night. Sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the window, he waited for the sun to rise.

As the first lights of dawn shined between his blinds, he realized two things. The first, was that he had a migraine. The second, was that he needed an out. An out of  _ what _ was the question though. The job? His brother? Life? How the hell would he know?

His phone rang. It was the hospital. 

“Hello?” he answered tiredly. 

“Is this John Vacca?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m calling on behalf of your brother, Thomas.”  _ Oh God. Not now. Not like this. _

“Is Tommy there? Is he...is Tommy okay?”

“I’m sorry to say this...but Tom passed away last night.” His breath hitched in his lungs. “I know this must be difficult to hear. But if you can come by the hospital, there’s some paperwork that’s required from next of kin.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed back a wave of tears, “I’ll be there soon.”


End file.
